She Says
by Rebekah D
Summary: Just because he left everything he knows, doesn't mean he doesn't miss what he had. Literati themes. ABANDONED
1. Fata Morgana

**Disclaimer**: I am not affiliated with the WB, Amy Sherman-Palladino or her and her husbands creation Gilmore Girls.   
**  
Spoiler Warning(s)**: Keg! Max! Here Comes the Son.  
  
**Rated**: R for adult language and displays of affection.  
  


She Says  
  
Chapter One: Fata Morgana  
  


  
  
In my mind I go back to that night, where she teases me in kindness. In my mind I change things, I don't feel like the world is falling down around me and I'm the only one aware of the chunks of sky lying on the floor. I ignore the gaping holes in the roof of the house, party people oblivious and satiated in their high school buzz. I am restless and acutely aware of everything from the blonde on the couch rocking herself like a child, to the pallor of the bass players skin, to the creeping itch of the stubble on my upper lip. She stumbles over to me after introducing the band. She thinks everything is okay. I'm dying though, dying slow but sure watching the color of her eyes get softer and softer when she tries to read me. I won't let her in, but I want to so badly.   
  
In my mind the metallic _click_ of the key on her belt is like a chime to my senses. Goosebumps forming on her arms when she pulls her jacket off and tosses it on the chair I sat in for a third of the night. Her throat is soft. She hums deep and slow. In my mind her bra is blue and soft on my nose and lips. She whispers my name, her breathing labored, clutching the back of my head –– gently pulling my hair. The skin of her breasts is cool and smooth, when I pull one strap down after removing her top she let's go of me, reaching behind her unhooking the clasp. It falls limp down her shoulders. I stare.   
  
In my mind I lay my head over her heart and listen to the strong rapid beat sounding through her chest. She giggles when I run my hands down her sides, dragging her bra down and off her body. She finds the open folds of my jacket where she starts to push the folds farther apart, smiling up at me when I pull away and yank my arms out of its sleeves letting it fall to the floor.   
  
"Smooth." She says in a sarcastic voice.  
  
"You makin' fun of me?" I retort playfully.  
  
"Yes." She answers.  
  
"Good." I say, "Just making sure."  
  
Her intake of breath is sharp when I lick and nip the side of breast. Taking her pale nipple into my mouth, I roll the tip against my tongue and the inside of my lip. Gauging her reactions by her breath coming in shallow and slow, my eyes stay focused on her face. Her mouth going slack forming a small O. She's holding onto my head again, coaxing and pulling when I hit the right spot.   
  
She breathes out in frustration when I pull away, getting a better view of her flushed cheeks, her eyes clouded over and almost fully dilated. In my mind I feel like I should say something, take the opportunity to justify my actions, just tell her how I feel. I love you, I appreciate you, you're beautiful, just –– fucking beautiful. But I keep my mouth shut, and kiss her. I put everything I have into that kiss, trying to convey all that I feel towards her. Her kindness, her intelligence, her beauty. Everything that made me want to pursue her. It's a poor substitute.   
  
In my mind she shudders when my lips pass over her ribcage and belly. I can feel her watching me. Like before the _click_ of her belt is a chime, I unbuckle it slowly, watching her eyes. She reaches out for the key that falls off, handing it to her. She pockets it and smiles.   
  
"Why'd you put it there anyway?" I ask.  
  
"No handbag, mom's idea, didn't want to lose it."   
  
"Huh, good idea." I say.  
  
"Thought so too." She says. I smile at her, feeling awkward in our exchange of words, there's no skirting around what we're in the process of doing.   
  
In my mind I move away from her and lock the door. Turning back to the bed she's moved, now with her head on one of Kyle's parents' many pink throw pillows. She leans forward and pulls me down next to her a serious expression on her face.   
  
"We should take off our shoes." She whispers, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, the serious expression not leaving her face. "Wouldn't want to get dirt all over the comforter."   
  
She rolls on top of me, straddling my hips. I was not expecting that.   
"Don't you think we should take off our shoes?" She asks, bending down over me, a hand on either side of my head. I have a perfect view of her breasts, she moves closer almost nose to nose.   
  
"Hmm?" She prompts.  
  
"Yes." I answer.   
  
She leans back reaching for my shoes I take the cue and bend my knees giving her better access. She starts to untie them, her breasts wobbling, this is fascinating to me. She grunts and pulls dropping each shoe onto the floor. She starts on her blue Converse, joining mine with twin thuds.   
  
"See isn't that better?" She quips.   
  
"Uh huh." I pull her down my hands wrapped around her waist. She teases my lips with hers.  
  
"Much better." I say after a few tentative kisses.  
  
Watching her hands bunching up the hem of my shirt, in my mind her fingers are warm stroking the skin of my belly and chest making my breath hitch. She touches me with curious un callused hands –– I know I don't deserve her. She's becoming insistent, urging me forward whipping my shirt over my head. She snickers, running her fingers through my hair smoothing parts of it back up. I reach out and start on her jeans, the zipper making a satisfying _zip_!   
  
"Hold on." she says, crawling off me to stand next to the bed. She peels her jeans off kicking them into a dark corner. I'm not surprised, but her underwear matches the bra lying at the foot of the bed. She stands unabashed arms at her sides, bare-chested in simple blue underpants, her nipples hard and pink, her left breast still glistening with my saliva. My mouth starts to salivate taking in the sight of her standing half naked and aroused with evidence of me shining her breast.   
  
A cliché remark is on the tip of my tongue but I hold it. I think she's beautiful –– I have no idea if she knows that. Nonverbal communication has always been my thing, packaged slow blinks and sensual licking of my lips always seemed fake to me. She's still standing by the side of the bed staring me down –– a look of rapt conviction on her face. She's not backing down. For months I've been avoiding the subject of sex with her fearing her skittishness but now –– now the act of it is inevitable.   
  
She sidles back onto the bed, settling herself on my thighs. I feel dumb. In my mind I reach for my fly undoing the row of buttons, each metal tab making a muffled popping sound. _Pop_, _pop_, _pop_, _pop_, _pop_! Like a demented scale on a dying piano. She reaches out to help drag my jeans off but I stop her hands, squeezing her fingers gently.   
  
"You have to get off." My voice doesn't sound like mine. Strangled. She nods, rolling next to me. I can't decide if I should get up and take them off, or go for the pulling kicking method. I roll off the bed and peel the damn things off, dragging my boxers down with them. I feel less strangled but a hell of a lot more exposed. She's kneeling on top of the bed her eyes fixed to mine. I lick my lips, I feel like I'm fading slowly into her.   
I'm back on the bed, and she's back on top of me. I kiss her like I'm apologizing. It's a scramble after that, a mad session of pulling her underwear off. When she pauses above me, her face flushed, eyes huge, her brown hair falling in her face.   
  
"Do you have anything?" she asks out of nowhere. I didn't even think of that, not even for a second. Which is altogether thoughtless of me considering I know her life story almost a well as my own.   
  
"No." I almost sob.   
  
"Fuck." she whispers exasperated. I don't think I've ever heard her use that word before. She does something even more out of character then, leaning to the side she opens the nightstand, rummaging around. She notices me eyeing her, kind of baffled.   
  
"This is Kyle's parents' room isn't it? I assume they had sex to conceive him and I assume they still... do _that_." She rolls her eyes at me when I smirk at her, rolling my head into a half nod.   
  
"Shut up and help me." She says, her eyes almost pleading, her voice rough. God, she's turned on. Just when she's given up, I reach into the drawer pulling out a hard cover book, flipping through the pages.   
  
"You want to read? Right now? Are you insane? Wait, what book is it?" I hold the spine up so she can see the title. "The Joy of Sex" she reads out loud. A roll of condoms falls out of the middle of the book.   
  
She's on top of me and I'm inside her. She's wet, she's hot, she's hot and wet and I can feel her heart beating all around me. She's rising, she's falling, she's gripping me tight feeling like a thousand slick fingers. She's breathing, breathing, and I hear my name, my name, my name, my name, my name. I hear my voice too.   
  
"Oh, God. Love... love. Mmm, yeah. Fuck! Love.... love you... love this. God, Rory." I'm kissing her, and feeling her back and her breasts, a hard nipple pinched between my index finger and my thumb, my mouth open and gasping for breath at her throat, kissing, licking, suckling. Her hands on my shoulders, skimming my chest, in my hair. Gripping pulling, cajoling.   
  
"I want." I hear her say, her breath coming out in tiny gasps. "I want." She says again. I watch her face, her lower body moving in tandem with mine. Her eyes closed tight. My hands take hold of her hips, guiding her down harder. She whimpers with every up stroke. I'm to the hilt with each thrust, bumping the end of her. Each time I bump it makes my eyes close and tiny fireworks go off behind my eyelids. One hand leaves her hip, sliding to the juncture of her thighs. I follow the heat through her dark hair. Searching for the spot that will make her reel. "I want you." She breathes, her eyes opening and looking into mine when I find her Clitoris, rubbing my thumb over the nubbin once, twice, three times. "I want... you." she says her body lulling, her mouth going slack, and I'm massaged by a thousands wet fingers. I stop moving, watching her face, letting her come down, her mouth still open. I can't help myself, rolling her onto her back. She cradles me between her thighs, letting me join her again.  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
"Yes." She nods, her eyes heavy lidded and glazed. She's still tight but relaxed. I look down, seeing us joined, I'm slick with her, this turns me on more. I feel my balls tighten. Burying my head in her shoulder I let the rushing contented sensation come.   
  
"Love you." I exhale.   
  
"Jess?" I hear her. "Jess?" her voice is muffled with an almost far away quality. I roll off her panting, feeling sweat dripping into my eyes and down my nose. I close my eyes keeping the sting of sweat away, mopping up excess moisture with the clammy skin of my forearm. In my mind she's laying next to me, sweat dotting her forehead, chest and belly. The smell of sex pungent in the air.   
  
"Jess!" her voice –– not her voice says. "Jess, stop spacing. You said you were up for Saturday afternoon rush, stop looking at the grill like it holds the secrets of the Universe, you're freakin' me out man. Jesus you're just like Jimmy." Lee says, his pale face coming into focus. Lee, The Inferno –– Santa Monica. Sweat trickles down my back, the dry California heat making my skin itch. "Dude, you were out." Lee says passing by holding a huge package of hot dog buns. "I thought I was gonna have'ta douse you with cold ketchup or somethin'."  
  
"Huh." Fantasies bite, especially when they're ruined by pale red haired guys wearing bandanas.   
  
**Authors Note**: This is my first Gilmore Girls fan fiction piece. If anybody is feeling generous I would really appreciate some insight into the genre. FYI this is the edited version of Chapter one, thank you Holly for your help! Thank you for reading. 


	2. Brummagem

**Disclaimer**: I am not affiliated with the WB, Amy Sherman-Palladino or her and her husbands creation Gilmore Girls. I do own Sarah, Tara oh and Jody.  
  
**Spoiler Warning(s)**: Keg! Max! Here Comes the Son.  
  
**Rated**: R for language and adult displays of affection.  
  
She Says  
  
Chapter Two: Brummagem  
  
"_And you say I only hear what I want to, I don't listen hard, I don't pay attention to the distance that you're running to anyone anywhere, I don't understand if you really ca--_"  
  
"Hey I was listening to that!" The twenty something in the Honda Civic yells at the guy that just shut off the radio. I'm sitting on a bench, on break, people watching between reading a bent copy of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I read it once when I was 12, now I'm finding the jabs at stereotypes in 19th century American society tactful, rather than focusing on the adventure. I read somewhere before that you should stop where Jim is stolen, because that's the real end and the rest is cheating, whatever. Honda chick is screaming at the guy who shut off the radio.   
  
"You do this all the time _Brian_! You just blatantly disregard my feelings, you're just so _fucking_ wrapped up in yourself." I can't hear what he's saying, but he looks damn bored. "I know it's just a song _Brian_, but it's not about the song it's about our _relationship _and the way you treat me in this _relationship." _She's gesturing with her arms the loose skin on her triceps flapping around reminding me of skinless chicken breasts. Huck and Jim are separated by fog and I have to get back to the the Inferno.  
  
I've been here for going on three months, working two jobs, one at the Inferno and at a car wash in Venice. Jimmy hasn't told me to leave, neither has Sasha. Every 2nd of the month since July I've left a good amount in the decorative box Sasha keeps in the living room. Her _bank_ she calls it, so I guess I'm making a deposit.   
  
I'm still getting used to it here, people have a different attitude, friendlier more nonchalant. They pass judgment on appearance just as much as they do back east though -- but I'm used to that. Southern California is extremely appearance based. People are skinnier, half of them are actors and they all want the extra ten pounds the camera adds to make them look healthy. I'm not sure if I like it here or not, I'm just easing into it.   
  
It's Sunday, mid August, all the whack-jobs come out for the weekend and try and make a buck selling street art and knockoff Fendi bags. Jimmy still talks about if man and property could mate he would. The visual is too much for me, I think that's why he says it -- shock value. Sasha is growing on me. She's quirky, like an edgier more tolerant Lorelai. Lilly still freaks me out. By the second week of sleeping on the living room floor she finally started a conversation with me -- weird as it was anyway. She's one of those scary smart kids who just observes everything then comes out with these dead-on interpretations. That's the freaky part, the huddling in cupboards and under tables reading, that's okay, but the talking when she does talk that is -- it's strange.  
  
"Hey Jess, take the grill will ya'?" Sarah says passing me the spatula before I have time to put my Dante's Inferno shirt on. She runs out of the stand toward the public restroom.   
  
"So that's why she's been dancing?" Lee observes after serving two customers. "I thought that resembled my baby cousin's classic _potty dance_." He snickers at his own joke. I turn back to the grill rolling my eyes. "Aw come on Mariano, that was funny... _potty dance _plus Sarah equals mildly amusing." I continue to ignore him. "Okay, okay, juvenile I know, but I don't have much to work with here she's new, don't make fun of the new people. They'll quit and then Jimmy will be here more and you know how well that goes?" That I have to acknowledge.   
  
"Duly noted, orders up." I pass him two plates, two huge hot dogs on each plate. "Tender artery clogging goodness ready for consumption."  
  
"Shhh, don't want the sheepies to find out what's in the feed." He whispers conspiratorially. I smile at that, walking over to the small closet in the back, pulling off Tool and replacing it with Dante's Inferno.   
  
"Hoo wee, show me some more O' that!" I turn around to see one of our regulars Tara, a petite 40 year-old shop owner from down the walk mock eyeing me.   
  
"Hey sweetie!" Lee says, leaning across the counter giving Tara an affectionate peck on the cheek.   
  
"Hey your self." She says, her eyes conveying mischievous mirth.   
  
"What'll it be today, Hell Fire Chili, with a side order of Eternal Damnation Fries and a Coke?" He drums his fingers on the countertop.   
  
"Nah, I'm gonna be boring, it's too hot out to be eating anything heavy, so just a Coke... I'll add the good stuff to it later." she winks.   
  
_The good stuff_ sounds like a good idea right about now, but I push the thought away. I haven't had a drink in –– I can't even remember the last time. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.   
  
"Back!" Sarah yells as she slams the door walking up and grabbing the spatula out of my hand without preamble. She bumps her hip into mine on purpose pushing me out of the way. "Move it, you can burn stuff later."   
  
"Be nice Sarah." Tara chides from the opposite side of the counter.   
  
"Yes ma'am." She mock salutes the older woman. Sarah may not have been working here for long, but she picked up on who to listen to fast. Tara smiles and says good-bye to Lee, waving at me flirtatiously.  
  
"We need some tunes!" Sarah yells over the sizzle of meat cooking. "And none of that angry-misunderstood-boy crap you like to listen to, got it? Something I can bump to without feeling like a jerk." She whips around fast, pointing at Lee. "No freakin' Shakira!"   
  
"Oooh, _freakin_', you go on with the mild expletives there girlie." I'm wondering where Lee's theory of not making fun of the new people went. Either that or this is Lee flirting.   
  
"Any objections?" Lee says holding up a scratched CD case, Rubber Soul in bubbly gold writing in the top left hand corner and the four Beatles flat and unfeeling scattered over the rest of the cases face.   
  
"Yay for dead English guys." Sarah says waving the spatula in the air.   
  
"Is that a _no_, or a _yes_? And only two of the four are... gone." Lee says, reaching for another case from off the shelf.   
  
"Don't really care." I say, dragging the gallon ketchup dispenser towards me so I can refill it.  
  
"Fine by me, put on track six." Sarah says.  
  
"No way man, we're starting with track one." He says completely serious. He drops the CD into the medium sized Philips boombox, turning the volume up as loud as it will go. The opening guitar and and drum roll of "Drive My Car" filling the stand, the sound wafting out onto the boardwalk. When the distinct sound of the sitar in "Norwegian Wood" starts up I drift back. Liz used to play it when I was a kid, and the story reminds me of –– things?   
  
Lane's band played it I think, during that one practice session I was at. I know it was one that Rory suggested as a wind down song, Lane pushed for "Nowhere Man" though, but I think they scrapped a Beatles cover all together. That lead singer, Zack getting pissed about how cliché it was to cover the Beatles. The bass player, Brian and him getting into some inane argument about how the only reason Zack doesn't like the Beatles is because "Julia" and "Hey Jude" make him cry. Then they segued into the fact that "Colorblind" by Counting Crows makes Brian cry, then it just got into this thing about Reese Witherspoon and Oscar Wilde and Jude Law. Rory and I just sat there and smirked at them while Dave tried to get them to focus on playing and not arguing over which Jude Law movie was better Gattaca, The Talented Mr. Ripley or Wilde, which Lane brought up, because she saw it with Rory and now she can't see Jude Law as anything other than Oscar Wilde's temperamental lover. All I wanted at that point was for the party to be here already and to be able to pay attention to Rory without any of our usual distractions, a party would be new territory. It came too soon though, and ended too –– too fucked up for me to think about even now with a clear head.  
  
I can see her face in the dark, its shapes and contours shadowed making her look etched out and angry. She sleeps.   
  
I don't go back to Luke's after the cops rolled up. I can't go back there just yet, I know what's going to happen once I do. I keep imagining walking up the steps, falling face first onto my bed and waking up the next morning, Luke tapping me and kicking my already packed duffle towards me. He packed it himself, so eager to get rid of me, just like Liz.   
  
I watch her face, letting the flutter and twinges freely run through me when she licks her lips in her sleep and rolls over revealing her bare arms and the tops of her breasts clothed in a tank top. I breathe in trying to calm the –– rage? I guess it's rage, but it feels less fiery, in truth it feels cold, like crunching ice with your teeth. Why does my life feel like filler? I finger the glass, tracing the outline of her body on the glass, closing one eye to make the silhouette accurate. My finger makes small squeaking sounds, I stop when she rolls over, her back to me, the line of her spine disappearing into the top her tank top. I miss her and she's right in front of me. I shake my head trying to dislodge every feeling from my head, the shaking continues until I'm almost jumping up and down in front of her window like an idiot. I just want them to go away, just go away. I almost knock my head into her window, bracing my hands on the sill, breathing in deep, feeling something wet dripping off the end of my nose and my chin. I reach up and wipe the back of my hand over my chin, pulling it away I half hope it'll come away with blood but my hand comes back clean with water. I'm crying, I'm fucking crying in front of my girlfriends window while she's asleep inside, jumping up and down, tracing her on glass and I –– I don't want to feel this anymore.  
**  
Credits:** The words in the beginning of the chapter is "Stay" by Lisa Loeb off her 1994 album Tails. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn By Mark Twain, Copyright 1885. "All American literature comes from Huckleberry Finn, while warning that 'if you read [the novel] you must stop where the nigger Jim is stolen from the boys. This is the real end. The rest is cheating' ." - Ernest Hemingway 1935. Rubber Soul is obviously a Beatles album released 1965. "Drive My Car" is the first track off of it, and if you're curious track six is "The Word", "Norwegian Wood" is track four. "Julia" is track 17 on disc one of The White Album released in 1968. "Hey Jude" was one of the first rock singles to surpass the standard running time of circa three minutes, lasting seven point 11 minutes. "Hey Jude" was released in the US on a US only album also called Hey Jude copyright 1970. "Colorblind" is track seven off of the Counting Crows 1999 release This Desert Life, also used in the Cruel Intentions soundtrack released also in 1999, starring Reese Witherspoon –– whom starred in the film version of Oscar Wilde's play The Importance of Being Ernest released in 2002. Jude Law was in the film Wilde about Oscar Wilde Copyright 1998. He was also in Gattaca and The Talented Mr. Ripley   
  



	3. Roundabout

**Disclaimer:** I am not affiliated with the WB Amy Sherman-Palladino or her or her husbands creation Gilmore Girls. I own Sarah, Jody, Jose and the take-out guy.  
  
**Spoiler Warning(s):** Keg! Max! Here Comes the Sun.  
  
**Rating:** R for language and adult displays of affection. **  
**  
**Beta Notes from Jewls13:** I apologise for the delay in getting this chapter out. It was stuck in beta with me. But may I just say, the copy and paste "update!" reviews really don't serve any purpose other then annoyance. The delay in posting is not intentional, and the story is getting out to you all as soon as it can. I speak only for myself of course.  
  
She Says:  
  
Chapter 3: Roundabout  
  
Work steady, steady work, steady steady -- don't drop anything, don't burn anything. nothing singed especially eyebrows, but plenty of grease blackened finger nails. I wait for the day to end (ebb), but it's the weekend and the sun is out after a week of grey overcast but no rain.  
  
"Baby you know how much I love you."  
  
There's a lull by mid afternoon, only the occasional customer orders. Sarah just got back together with her girlfriend, they're in the too-much-mush-for-sanity phase. She's the first lesbian I've spent extended periods of time with, next to Liz when she was going through a bisexual thing.   
  
"Baby," Sarah purrs, "wait till I get home to shave that, hmm I wanna watch that pussycat."  
  
All right I really wish a costumer would show up right _now_! I look over at Sarah I think my mouth is hanging open, she turns her back walking into the corner for more privacy. This is reminding me of all the inappropriate cell phone conversations I over heard on the bus which is a step down from people making out on the subway -- and the masturbators in the public library.  
  
Oh God, now I can't get the image of Sarah and her girlfriend using an electric razor on each other out of my head. The buzzing makes me think of a vibrator, that sound has disturbed me since I was 14 -- when I walked in on Liz using hers. I didn't come home until the next afternoon after seeing that. I couldn't get the sound or the image out of my head.  
  
Jesus, Rory's crotch. Wipe down the counter. Rory's crotch in front of me. Refill the straw dispenser. Rory's bare crotch. Get out a new stack of cups. Rory's crotch in my face. Refill the ketchup. Rory's crotch on my lips, in my mouth. Stick my head in the refrigerator. Rory's crotch, Rory's crotch, Rory's _cunt_.   
  
"I am so god damn pissed at you right now Jody, I don't even have the words to describe how grr! I thought, I thought you cut her off, but you fuckin' saw her again! You told me you told her to fuck off. I am not going through this with you again -- I refuse! Grow a spine Jody, grow a mother fuckin' spine!" Sarah slams the phone onto its cradle.  
  
"Ugh! I'm taking a break!" She whips her Dante's Inferno t-shirt off revealing a fire engine red half shirt. Stomping through the stand to the door. It's December 22nd, it's a great end to a fucked up year.  
  
****  
  
"So we started that Radiohead cover this week."   
  
"Huh." I'm manning the grill.  
  
"Yeah 'Idioteque', heard some spiky haired guy with a guitar do it a couple of -- last year when I was visiting a friend in Chicago. So I thought if that guy can do it so can we, you know?" Lee's talking about his band. I've never heard them play, but then again him talking about what they play is enough for me to know I don't really want to hear them. Duran Duran covers and the occasional Rollingstones. They're boring.  
  
"Yeah?" I'm not really interested in what Lee is saying, but he said Radiohead this time and they're pretty progressive compared to the other bands they probably butcher. I could give a shit about this warm up act he's talking about though.  
  
"Yeah, dude he was like using modified wah-wah pedals and a mini soundboard on stage looping riffs he'd just recorded, layering and shit... singing along with himself, it was interesting to watch, made him kind of detach from the crowd though, you know having to concentrate on the tech part instead of connecting with the people." Why is he talking about an asinine warm up band? Nobody pays attention to the warmup band, they're fodder for the fire.   
  
"Sure thing Lee."   
  
"Man, are you even listening to me?" Lee's giving me this look like I just seriously offended him, great.  
  
"Yeah, spiky hair, wah-wah pedals, looping... listening."   
  
"He was good, but part of that white-guy's-with-guitars category like John Mayer."  
  
"Ugh, that guy's annoying." I say.  
  
"Hell yes! He sounds like he's doing an impression of Count Chocula." His pale face is animated his bandana slipping down almost covering his eyes, he's all teeth.   
  
Interactions with my coworkers is almost becoming second nature to me now, I try not to placate too much, or to ignore, sometimes – just sometimes I find myself actually having conversations. I thought I was just going to survive out here, not, I don't know -- bond?   
  
"You should come watch us jam sometime man, we're kind of moving in a new direction."  
  
"New direction?" I ask, "Should I be afraid?"  
  
"Very funny, no we're moving in a new direction where we don't quite suck anymore."  
  
"So the sucking is over?" His teeth are huge.  
  
"Oh we still suck, we're just moving on from the simple sucking, to the as I said before not quite sucking anymore. I wanna try some new styles, maybe some ska." I chortle. "Okay, no ska when Jess Mariano is around, acknowledged." He laughs at the look on my face. He's truly un-malicious.   
****  
"Hey Lily-Lou!" Jimmy announces his presence by opening the cupboard in the living room and placing his baseball cap on Lily's head. Open affection for a child who thinks of him as more of a father than I ever will. Sometimes their interaction is so sweet on my tongue it aches; and then the ache turns into a longing, turning sour in my mouth. Jealousy -- I push it off. I have nothing to be jealous of. My childhood is fucking over.   
  
The haunted longing of Billie Holiday and the gravel of Louis Armstrong fill the back area of the house. Sasha's in her studio working. Ceramics are her passion of the moment, the other week it was watercolors. I wonder if I should be annoyed by her schizophrenic tendencies when it comes to her projects. She said she wanted to paint me the other week, then ended up taking out an old camera and shooting me sleeping, one of the cats hanging off the edge of the mattress, its tail curling around my head. She showed me the shot, and decided to blow it up and frame it. So now I'm imbedded in this house on chemical paper in black, white and grey ink, framed in plexi glass and silver metal.   
  
"How was the car wash today, Jose get any rich hippie college girls numbers?" Jimmy asks me. "Or did they just hand him back his free hot wax coupons without any scribbles today?"   
  
"He left early, never got the actual count." A pat answer. Jose's the assistant manager at the car wash I work at three days a week. He's a self proclaimed ladies man with a Johnboy Walton mole and lisp he's unaware of. He likes the color yellow, and saying "Yeah baby." at every opportunity he can get. I tolerate him, like I tolerated rush hour traffic in Manhattan -- does it ever end?   
  
"Dinner's on its way." Sasha says, walking in from her studio bare foot and wiping her hands on a towel covered with multiple colors of paint. There's white drying clay splotched onto her feet and on her warn unraveling jeans. Her old grey Minnie Mouse t-shirt hanging off her shoulder, the collar cut off like something out of the '80s.   
  
"Chinese from Sammy's, set the table Lil'."   
  
She taps the cupboard with her short finger nails, running her hand through her hair, giving me a weary smile.   
  
"Long day." she says, passing Jimmy and squeezing his arm.  
  
I sit on the couch a copy of Young Adam in my lap, a black pen in hand. The protagonist is flooring me, recalling a time where he pummeled his girlfriend with the contents of bowl. Custard he'd made, but she refused to eat when she got home from work. She kneels on the floor of their flat, naked and covered with yellow-y white custard refusing to cry. _Evidence of future actions_ I write in the margin.  
  
"Psst!" Lily's foot is sticking out of the cupboard door, propping it open a crack.   
  
"No." I ignore her, flipping to near the beginning of the book, skimming a description of a green cotton dress stretched over Ella's backside.  
  
"Pleeease." She begs.  
  
"No.  
  
"Please, I'll let you write in my copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, I'll never recite 'The Jabberwocky" at you ever again, please set the table for me, I'm at the good part!"   
  
"Every part is the good part with you." I say to the page where Ella and the protagonist have illicit sex while her husband is out at the local pub.   
  
"Jonas just learned about war, you cannot seriously think I'll leave now." She implores.   
  
"What are you reading?" I ask as I get up from the couch and open the cupboard. She holds the book up. "The Giver? Isn't that a little -"  
  
"- _A little_ what? I read through the Anastasia series last year, Number the Stars was too preachy for me. I thought I might try this one, the 6th graders were reading it in class last year."   
  
"Preachy?" She's nine!   
  
"Please?" She puts on her best puppy dog impression, she might start whining if I don't give in.  
  
"Fine." I walk into the kitchen where Sasha and Jimmy are sitting on the counter drinking Corona's.   
  
"Pay up!" Sasha says holding her hand out to Jimmy.  
  
"You said three minutes, that took three and a half." Jimmy protests as he sips his beer.  
  
"Close enough, you were off by miles anyway, pay up." she waves her fingers in the air, swinging her legs and flexing her toes.   
  
"Fine!"   
  
He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet and hands Sasha a ten-dollar bill.   
  
"You are so easy to predict man." Jimmy says to me, putting his wallet back in his pocket.   
  
The dogs start barking in the yard signaling the arrival of the take-out guy.  
  
"Yo Sash'!" The take-out guy yells. "Hey! I don't even let dates near that till the third or fourth date, whoa! You are so not first date one night stand  
material buddy!"  
  
****  
  
Three o'clock in the morning is staring me in the face. The deathly silence that takes over this usually chaotic house is disconcerting. One of the cats is eying me from its place on the table by the door. It wants to sleep next to my head so it can absorb my body heat. But I refuse, staring it down and flopping onto my side.   
  
Five past three o'clock in the morning is staring me in the face. I think I have to pee.   
  
Down the narrow hallway, I don't bother turning on the light. The neighbors porch light illuminates the bathroom enough, though it's a sad excuse for a window. I can barely make out my reflection in the mirror when I wash my hands. I bring my hand up to my face still dripping with cold water. Running my fingers over the bridge of my nose, tracing my lips. For a millisecond, I imagine it's her fingers.   
  
Sasha and Jimmy's door is open a crack, I try and ignore the soft sounds coming from inside.   
  
"Jimmy." I hear Sasha's whispering moan.   
  
"Sash'." Jimmy chokes out.  
  
Jimmy is my father, Sasha is not my mother. In the back of my head I harbor a disembodied image that before he skipped out on Liz and me, she and him were that loving. Making cheap bets on friends, stealing moments at three am.   
  
I shuffle back to my mattress sinking down into Sasha's red sheets and patchwork quilt and think about something else.   
  
**  
Credits**: "Idioteque" is by Radiohead off their 2000 release Kid A, it was covered in reality in Chicago on 2 April, 2003 at Loyola college by Howie Day. Duran Duran is a band from the 1980's most known for the song "Hungry Like the Wolf." The Rollingstones are -- the Rollingstones_. _Johnboy Walton is a character from the 1970's TV show the The Walton's. Billie Holiday is a world famous blues singer famous for songs such as "Summertime", "Night and Day" and "Solitude." Louis Armstrong is a world famous jazz and blues trumpet player, famous for his gravely voice and great smile oh and his trumpet playing! Young Adam is by Alexander Trocchi Copyright 1954. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland; by Lewis Carroll published in 1865. Number the Stars; by Lois Lowry Copyright 1989. The Anastasia series is made up of about ten books including Anastasia Krupnik(1979), and Anastasia Ask Your Analyst(1984), The Giver is also by Lois Lowry copyright 1993.  
  



	4. Fairhaired

**Disclaimer:** I am not affiliated with the WB, Amy Sherman-Palladino or her and her husbands creation Gilmore Girls.

**Spoiler(s): **Keg! Max! Here Comes the Son.

**Authors** **notes: **I apologize for the late update, I just moved from Portland, Oregon to the D.C area in March. School and finals and packing and moving across the country encumbered my writing time. Thank you Jewls and Stew Pid for Beta I appreciate it as much as taking off my shoes after a really long night at my new job so in other words I _ache_ with appreciation.

She Says Chapter Four: Fair-haired

The bassline is making my skin tingle and the window panes shake. Parts of me that should not be feeling vibrations, are feeling vibrated, violation by hip hop.

Jose's car; supped up, yellow, his idea of sleek; his 'Sweet Loretta' he calls it. I try my best to ignore him. We're heading down to Manhattan Beach to his cousin's birthday party, he convinced me that it would be more fun than "whatever you do on a Thursday night."

"Watch Friends?" I rolled my eyes at the words coming out of my mouth. For a bunch of people who live in New York, the cast of Friends don't have it down. Maybe, because the show is shot in -- dear God -- Manhattan Beach, California. The parallels in my life are starting to weird me out.

"Pass me that." Jose points to a container of hair gel lying on the dash. It's probably lost all its consistency by now, the car's been sitting in the sun since 9 am.

"Here." I hand him the gel.

"Want thome?" he points to my hair.

"Nah." I shake my head. I fixed my hair in the men's room at the car wash.

"Cool." We're at a stop light, he adjusts the rearview and dabs some gel into his palm, rubbing his hands together he works on the front of his hair, making it stand up and the rest lay flat. I'll bet money that ten years from now we'll wonder what the hell we were thinking.

"Ready to roll." He's really starting to annoy me, I swear to God he's like a cartoon character on some damn potent Meth. He sure smells like he's on Meth. I remember when one of my friends started on it, he got all twitchy, breaking out, poured on the C.K One. Maybe Jose is on Meth, maybe I'm on Meth, or maybe, _I _should go on Meth.

"Jess, man, would you chill, you're starting to get that far away, like, pensive look."

I didn't even know he knew the word pensive, let alone what it means.

"Huh?"

We're down by the beach, I can hear the waves crashing, but I can't see the sand or water. We pass houses piled up so high they look like building blocks, gardens are on roofs, just like back home. Home?

"So which birthday is this?" I ask to move the focus off me.

"The big two two, yeah baby!"

"I thought the big one was 'the big two one'?"

"She wath in a Convent for that one." He snorts, ruining his joke. "Nah man, she wath pregnant for that one, so, she thkipped the festivities for ithe cream, pizza and pickleth... and in that order too." He nods his head, then shudders. "Pickleth."

"Hey, I like pickles." I warn.

"Yeah so did I, but not after watching what she did to 'em. Make you thwear off pickleth for life."

"I'm gonna thank you for not going into detail."

"You're welcome." He cocks his head at the white ranch house we've parked in front of, there are balloons tied to its cast iron lamp post.

***

I watch a single strand fall out of a woman's mass of long blonde hair. The thin almost transparent thread falls to the ground, I wait for somebody else to notice, but I know no one will.

I watch the street kids make their rounds. A blonde boy who could be anywhere from 13 to my age looks out at the tourists walking the boardwalk. His eyes are vacant, red rimmed, he's far-gone. He reminds me of the homeless guy who squatted on my block back home. "Spare some change, I'm dying of AIDS." His eyes were blue, his hair sandy blonde, his voice timid and weak like the rest of his demeanor. He'd stand behind you at street corners and say his line "I'm dying of AIDS, spare some change." Sometimes, he switched it up. My eyes feel raw like the street kids, like the neighborhood AIDS victims.

"You feelin' okay?" Jimmy asks.

I watch the street kid make a resigned exchange with a skinny bleached blonde woman, wearing tight black levi's and a thick studded belt, her chunky black shoes making her stand a couple inches taller than the kid. A small clear packet dropped into a palm, a darting of eyes, and it's over. He'll feel more or less as soon as he can find a quiet place to cinch his belt, and let the plunger drop. I'm in love with that kid for a millisecond, the courage and cowardice it takes to take himself away from his pain. I read, he shoots up, we both remedy the pain, but nothing's anywhere near fixed.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I answer Jimmy, watching the street kid's back disappear around a corner. The screams coming from the coaster distracting my requiem for a dream.

***

The party unfolds like a flower-- the kind that look good, but when you bend and sniff it you have to pull back, because the scent is too strong, a stench more than a scent. I shouldn't have come here.

A blonde girl with a nose ring eyes me from across the room. Her ring is her rebellion, her lecherous smile is a ploy-- she wants to celebrate her freedom. She's a trapped sheep, being corralled by a Border Collie called Max or Rex, King, Toby, Blacky, Grover, Rover, Spot, Daisy.

"Rothe." Jose leers at me, indicating the blonde. Rose, I roll my eyes and walk away finding a staircase tucked between the kitchen and living room. I take the steps two at a time and regress.

I'm back in a badly decorated bedroom with pink pillows everywhere. An ugly framed print of an androgynous blonde child frowns at me over the faux fireplace. I want to scream, or cry, or fuck something. I pull out the proverbial book from my back pocket, my fall back, Oliver Twist. I finger the bent copy still warm from my pocket. Sinking to the floor by a row of windows, I watch the few stars that are strong enough to show through the smog and city lights. I wait for her to find me hiding in this room painfully similar to the last place we wanted to see each other.

***

The TV's on, Sasha's in the kitchen making Mac and Cheese mixed with left over spaghetti sauce, and Lily's huddled under the table under the window reading. My feet are cold, but I don't do anything to warm them up. I think back on the birthday party, the girl with the nose ring, Rose, my hiding upstairs, how much worse Jose's lisp gets when he's drunk. A black and white cat leans up against my side, pressing its spine into my thigh. I don't bother pushing it away, the warmth from its small body is making my cold feet less of a distraction. The TV drones on; News, Iraq, Martha Stewart, Michael Jackson, I could give a flying fuck about most of it.

A gangly orange cat circles round and round at the front door, mewling. I watch the light coming in at the bottom of the door, remembering home where the light always looked like someone was standing waiting to be let in, or break in. I'd sit on Liz's couch watching the door, waiting for the shadow to move to somebody else's door.

***

15, nursing a hang over and a split lip. I won't say I didn't deserve it, letting some stupid fuck get up in my face. I should have known not to hang at a college party.

"What did you do?" Liz walks in from her bedroom tying her bathrobe closed. She walks into the kitchen banging around in the fridge, walks out to me, sits next to me, and tries to press a packet of frozen peas onto the black eye I didn't know was there.

"Hey!" I pull away, grabbing the peas from her. She flinches and scoots back from me.

"Just relax, Jack." she says, holding her hands up in mock protection. "Just trying to help."

"I don't need your help. I'm fine. " And I really believed that I was.

**Credits**: Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens copyright. The homeless AIDS victim is not fictional he hung out in downtown Portland, Oregon between 6th and 5th and Burnside(nick named Cocaine Corner), to 8th and Yamhill, he's probably dead now. Friends is um Friends the internationally viewed and acclaimed situation comedy produced by the National Broadcasting Company(NBC).


	5. Pony Up

**Disclaimer**: I am not affiliated with The WB, Amy Sherman-Palladino or her and her husbands creation Gilmore Girls.

**Spoiler(s)**: Keg! Max! Here Comes the Son.

**Rated**: R for language and adult displays of affection.

**Authors Notes**: Been awhile huh? Thanks Jewls for the quick beta job. Read on!

She Says: Chapter Five Pony-up

_Fresh blood_. That's the first thought that comes to mind after I knick myself shaving. I let this trickle of blood flow, this opaque ruby red pouring out of me. I'm alive, and then I realize how crazy I'm acting, wet a wash cloth with cold water and hold it to the cut 'till it closes.

The skin on my fingers is pealing and flaking off. I wash the dishes at work keeping my fingers submerged in hot water for intermittent times throughout the day. At closing though it's a half hour stretch, quadruple that time when I work at the car wash. God, I hate my jobs. I'd use lotion, but the flakes are something to look at.

Boardwalk sounds and Lee playing "Under the Boardwalk", for the 50 millionth time today, is starting to make feel-- well, homicidal. The constant pattern of screams coming from the Ferris Wheel and roller coaster is becoming an unexpected kind of white noise. I still want to clock Lee over the head with the ketchup dispenser though-- and he knows it. He smiles this wicked shit eating grin, as I hand people their orders and make change. Sarah's out for the weekend, so it's just the two of us, plus Jimmy showing up every three hours with packages of hot dog buns, frozen corn dogs and blue Tornado popsicles. Lee steals a popsicle during his break, and comes back looking like a Party Kid or a Marilyn Manson entourage reject. He rips his new black bandana off and waves it in front of my face.

"Going for a gang member look? Quit wearing it like a biker, people might respect you more."

"Very funny, some guy over there keeps staring at you." he motions past the boards to the sand.

"Ex-boyfriend?" he leers, I hit him in the back of the head. He stumbles, I smile. "You know, exhibiting aggressive behavior when your sexuality is compromised, just makes you look even more gay." I raise my hand again and he backs off.

"Good, you're making me scare the customers."

"What costumers, only people around are your boyfriend and Lily showing up to ask if she can steal your copy of Politically Incorrect Fairy Tales. I think you should get out more. "

"Don't make me come over there." I warn as he takes over counter and I take over grill.

I'm gonna smell like grease for two days and I can already feel the sting of it on my arms. Little red marks will show later like tiny chicken pox , they might blister too. Lee leans back from the fake formica of the counter, finally changing the CD from some Golden Oldies mix, popping in a CD labeled "Miscellaneous Songs from Different Shows." The roar of a crowd comes out of the tiny speakers flooding the space with their clapping and cheering.

"'Member that opener I was talking about?" No, but I nod anyway.

"The friend I saw him with met a bunch of chicks from his school who're obsessed with him, got them to make copies of his shows, apparently he's got an open tapping policy... this ones just a bunch of random tracks they found on Napster or whatever... covers mostly, but the original stuff; wow he's primal."

I want to ignore him, but he just keeps going on with this kid-in-a-candystore look on his face his teeth jutting out, eyes bugging. I nod and he turns the sound up as far as it will go. It's some gravely voiced guy, I just let it go and let the music become background like the coaster, 'till one line that sounds like an accident, stands out, making me think of beat poetry and coffee houses, fucked up loves and oddly enough-- jazz. The song changes and the guy is wailing like some tribal worrier, recognizing it as the theme from The Dead Zone, Sasha bought a copy of the pilot a week ago and watched it about 3 times over the weekend. Jimmy kept walking into the room and walking out, mumbling something about "that dork from the Breakfast Club... why, why, why?" While Sasha coaxed Lily out from under her table, explaining the merits of being a former Brat Packer-- I think she's insane. The theme song is good though, now this kid is using it as an outro to one of his songs. 45 minutes later, The CD ends on a 12 minute song that incorporates a Radiohead cover and _One_ by U2. By then, my shirt is sticking to me and I'm afraid to lift my arms for more than offending myself. I look out toward the sand and see a skinny dark haired guy turn his head away too fast to be casual. I take in the back of his head, must be my "boyfriend" or whatever Lee called him. I look down at the grill, at half raw meat cooking in front of me, I look up and make eye contact with the skinny guy. Dave Rygalski, standing barefoot and awkward on my beach, staring right back at me. Blast from the past.

"That's no boyfriend." I say to Lee, he leans his head back, adams apple straining against his skin.

"Huh?" followed by a weird flemy choking sound.

"That's a band geek."

"Okay, well 'band geek a-comin', can I please say 'and one time at band camp' and see how he'll react, or will you throw raw hamburger down my shirt?"

"You're cracked, only Sarah does that, and sure...whatever."

"I repeat Band Geek a-comin'."

I always thought I'd run away if I saw a former Stars Hollow enthusiast near me, but I'm standing still, plus, I really want to hear what he has to say. Chew me out maybe? Then again, what the hell is he doing here? I never thought he'd willingly leave Lane without Mrs. Kim neutering him with rusty house scissors, then handing them to him wrapped in brown paper and string, bible stacked on top, of course.

"Hey Jess." Dave says, as if it hasn't been six months since we've seen each other.

***

When I get home from work, Jimmy, Sasha and Lily are on the couch watching L.A. Story. They're at the point in the movie where Steve Martin's character is sitting at home alone while the woman he loves is watching the rain pelt her round airplane window. It's then that Idecide I need to go back.

"I need to go."

"Then go, bathroom's free."

"All right." Sasha says knowingly. "Want some help packing?"

"Packing?" Jimmy looks from me to Sasha back to me.

"No, that's okay, don't have much anyway."

"Okay." She nods.

Steve Martin and Sarah are talking to the sign at the side of the road, the sound of bagpipes flooding the front room. I walk past them making a beeline for Jimmy's office. Jimmy get's up from the couch and follows.

"So just like that you're going?" Jimmy says shutting the office door.

"No, it's not _just_ like." I say opening the cupboard door, fishing out my old duffle.

"What's it like then? Just... for a second here, let's pretend I'm aloud to play the role of something resembling a father here, just you know... suspend disbelief, I think I've earned it. May I ask where you're going? Or, I think I know."

I've started picking through Jimmy's massive bookcase finding five or six volumes that are mine.

"Back East." I say after a 30 or more seconds of stalling.

"Yeah, there's a whole lot of east you know, just like there's a whole lot of west. You would't mean the Far East, would you by any chance, because you might want to take those 'how to travel Asia on 5 cents a day' books, Sasha got when she was on her travel kick. I think we made it to as far North as Bellingham, Washington and as far south as Baja."

"New England... maybe." Trying to keep it vague.

"New England, huh? Yeah, we can work with that."

I think on the song and on the day, and on running into Dave. He came back during my break, just sat down next to me on a bench and went into this semi funny diatribe about how weird Southern California is, then segued into asking why I left. I couldn't answer him straight out, so I skirted, but he called me on it, said I was acting like a pussy. I told him he didn't know shit about my life, and he admitted that I was probably right. He said after a while, that he didn't want to tell me off or anything, but that after seeing me here he had to say something."

"She's at Yale, you know that right?" He said.

"Yep." Wondering where the hell he was going with this.

"Probably wondering where the hell I'm going with this, huh?"

"Kinda."

"All right I'll be straight, because frankly, I don't picture us turning into Buddy Movie material."

"Okay."

"I talked to Lane today, Rory was there."

"You done?"

"No, come on _Jess_, man."

"What?"

"She was laughing, she was laughing, you know."

"No, I don't."

"Lane told me after Rory left, that she doesn't do that too much anymore. That since you left, she's different."

"Is this supposed to make me feel guilty, _Dave_? Because believe me, I get enough of that from my own conscience. I have to get back to work, have a good time at school." At that I left.

***

Before I leave the next morning Sasha pulls me aside in the front room. My mattress is stacked neat in the back of the house, my sheets and bedding piled with that weeks dirty wash. She hugs me tight and kisses me lightly on the cheek, slipping an envelope into my duffle.

"For Later." she says. "Now scram."

**Credits**: L.A. Story Copyright 1991, The Breakfast Club Copyright 1985, The Dead Zone Copyright 2002 theme song called "New Years Prayer" by Jeff Buckley.


End file.
